the trial-19.06.17

*artwork- via

יער מפחיד


Tiny seed of longing

Was planted in me when I was two.

I’ve never been asked for a permission

But nevertheless

I’ve taken care of it relentlessly

Fostering it into monstrosity

Letting it

Weave its branches into every supple cell of mine

To keep me buried under

An unrestrainable jungle of thoughts

To sentence me to an infinite




*artwork- by jiwoon pak via



my being is ridiculous country.
it’s easy: i merely want to be needed, important and
so that they won’t have a new girl, again.but, in the meantime, i am bored.
and everything around me seems
and pointless.
people used to be.
and i once was
someone that i am not, anymore.
yet, i hold on to. clinging to something
that is not even memory.
primeval fright.
ever present anxiety.
so, i wait. i’m alert.
always ready for being turned away.
returned to
the manufacturer.

in a
 common cardboard box,
straight to unlovingness.

fairy-tale for a grown up-24.09.10

*artwork-“waiting for the sun” by cameron gray via



“pattern”, it is called.
her little personal drama.
all of a sudden – a whirlpool,
echoing voice of sticky old trauma.”don’t wait for me yet”
he asks.
well, it’s too late,
the mechanism’s on
her heart sings that
moth-eaten song.


she says i’ve got to-17.01.10

*artwork- frustration by mehran roozbahni


she says i’ve got to try to like this little girl
and i wonder, what is the way?
i wish i could friend her on facebook

she says i’ve got to stop pushing her away,
stop erasing her from this hard disk
on the back of my mind,
mossy used to say

she says i should be empathetic…
should i?
for something that i can not really grasp?
or remember?


i hide among all these names that barely have faces
just so i won’t have to see my own
and there they go
so precious so unimportant
i keep this puzzle of pieces with no unique form
i choose where to place them
while i lay in my bed and do not remember
whose stomach is pressed against my back.


for my own good-6.01.10

*artwork- view of the exhibition “Powerless Structures” at Tel Aviv Museum of Art


what was i
when was i
one of these …imprisoned on
white islands of metal solitude
on each – imperfect youth
so early broken, nearly left
in it together
so painfully alone.

perverted arc,
“it’s for your own good”,
they said
and others – silent,
was i
tied and shaved,
and waiting…




*artwork- “anguish” by darren johnson via



between third cup of coffee and unimaginary anguish
i try to escape from my own prison
words echoing in my room
said and unsaid
as i walk around, lost in my own fortress
not recognizing this space,
i am a stranger
to my own thoughts, so familiar, so

i pushed out and away,
and now, left in my beloved solitude
i am full of hatred
that can not find its way to

me or you,
all itchy
i wish to scratch you out
to leave this incapable pale skin
and find a new place
to contain my rusty world of

scared baby with a head shaved
and legs tied to a bed that is everything
scared baby, that waits for a savior to come
in sterile room, with windows ever closed
and smell of lost hope
where every minute is an eternity
and every touch is love deprived